May I Have This Dance? Sherlolly
by Hannah HasSpareTime
Summary: A short little Sherlolly fic that will make you smile.


_**This takes place after the events of "His Last Vow". Sherlock is back, and solving cases that are linked to Moriarty. Though he loves the 'high' he gets from the cases, he has been rather taxed mentally and physically.**_

_You do count. You've always counted._

For some reason, those were the words on Molly Hooper's mind as she unlocked the door to her flat. That had been when Sherlock had asked her to help fake his death. Her. Molly Hooper. Who counted.

She sighed as she hung up her coat and went to the kitchen and put the kettle on the stove. Sometimes she thought that Sherlock only ever acknowledged her when he wanted something. She felt used, but she didn't mind. That's what was wrong with it. It should have bugged her the way he used her, but every time she saw him, her heart couldn't help but do a little flip in her chest, and she'd melt.

The kettle began to screech, so she poured herself a cup of tea. A deep voice from behind her said "Do you mind pouring me one too?"

SHe almost dropped the cup.

Molly turned around and there he was. His hair was ruffled and his collar turned up. He was sitting in her favorite armchair cmfortably, as if he belonged there. Her heart flipped. "Sherlock, you startled me."

"Key under the plant. It wasn't exactly hard to get in."

She blushed. _Of course, how obvious._ He probably thought her an idiot. "Well- um- okay." She poured another cup of tea and handed it to Sherlock and then sat on the couch opposite him. "What brings you to my home?''

"It has come to my attention that I am a man of poor timing."

"By which you mean..." Molly prompted him.

"I have never expressed my feelings toward you at a proper time. You probably think me horrible person. You probably think that I don't-" he paused, as if choosing his words with caution. "-care about you."

"Well you don't."

"Do you remember when we were seven? We lived next door to each other."

"Yes." She kept her answers minimal. _Minimal talking, minimal heartbreak. _she thought.

"You taught me how to dance. Remember?"

_Molly and Sherlock were running around the yard. He was the pirate who was saving her, the princess. At his side was his trusty dog, Redbeard. He was running arround the yard, fighting off the villains. She was up in their tree house "Help!" she called down._

_Sherlock dashed to the ladder and climbed up. He went in the tree house and turned to Molly. "You're safe now," he said._

_Molly giggled, "Thank you."_

_Mycroft shouted up at them, "You two are simply being childish."_

_Sherlock leaned out the window, "Well Mycroft, if you could not see, we are seven years old." He turned back to Molly. "Ignore him, he's an idiot."_

_Molly giggled again. "Would you dance with me, brave rescuer?_

_Sherlock looked sheepish and backed away. "I don't know how."_

_Molly had been taking dance classes for a while now, so she taught him. He was rather good at it (though klutzy at first). They twirled throughout the tree house until their mums called them for dinner._

Molly didn't tell him about this vivid memory of course, she simply nodded.

Sherlock turned on some music. "I think I may need a refresher," he said, holding his hand out to her./p

"You don't. You never forget anything." That didn't stop her from taking his hand.

"Ah yes, but then, I needed some excuse to be near you." He pulled her close and began to sway with her to the music. It was Tchaikowsky, not Sherlock's favorite, she knew. It was too emotional for him, he preferred more methodical music. No. This was for her. She leaned her head against his chest, not wanting the moment to end.

He looked down at her. She couldn't see this of course, but he looked down at her like she was the only thing that mattered. He loved having her close to him, her touch, her smell, his Molly.

She looked up at him and smiled. He smiled right back down at her. Molly closed her eyes and leaned her head back against his chest. Nothing could have made this more perfect.

Except for what happened next. He pulled further away, so that she faced him. Then, he, Sherlock Holmes, leaned down and planted his lips on hers. Molly wrapped his arms around his neck and kissed back.

They stayed like that for a while, for long after the music had stopped playing.


End file.
